


Fires

by scooter_brothers_industries



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23791903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scooter_brothers_industries/pseuds/scooter_brothers_industries
Relationships: Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Fires

Michael sighed. Flicking absentmindedly through the TV channels, he felt certain he’d never been so bored in his life. Besides the monotonous background noise of the TV, the house was absolutely silent: Tracey was out with her friends, Amanda was away at a tennis retreat, and for once, Jimmy wasn’t screaming slurs over dying in a video game. He was sure he was meant to be enjoying this peace and quiet. After all, it wasn’t going to be interrupted any time soon. Devin Weston was dead; hell, so was just about everyone who had ever given him trouble.  
He shot a glance over at the small glass of bourbon resting on the table beside him. There was barely a sip’s worth of drink left, and there surely wasn’t any reason not to get a refill. He grabbed the glass and stood up, heading over to the kitchen to pour himself another round.  
Suddenly, the silence was broken by a loud pounding at the front door. Michael’s hand instinctively went to the gun he kept tucked in his belt. This was hardly a situation he was unfamiliar with, but it was startling nonetheless.  
“Mikey! Open up or I’m gonna throw rocks through your windows, you dumb whore!” A muffled voice called from outside. Trevor. Of course it was Trevor. Michael had to hold back a groan as he set down his bourbon, and went to get the door.  
“The fuck do you want, T?” He said, opening it to see Trevor dressed in his typical dirty white t-shirt and sweatpants, looking smug.  
“That’s how you greet your best friend, sugar tits?” Trevor stepped back, feigning shock. “I’m kidding. Shit, maybe I was just in the neighborhood and wanted to drop by! Don't worry about it." He strode in past Michael, and tossed himself down on the living room couch.  
“That’s really what you drink, Mikey?” He asked, pointing over at the bourbon bottle in the kitchen. “I didn’t know you liked the fancy shit now.”  
“If I can pick it up at the corner liquor store, it ain’t ‘fancy’.” Michael mumbled. He shut the door and walked back to the kitchen. He poured the rest of his glass and drank it right there.  
"Got any to share?" Trevor asked.  
"Yeah, sure. Why the fuck not?" Michael replied. Trevor stood up and sauntered over into the kitchen. Without waiting, he snatched the bottle off the counter and took a swig.  
"This tastes like piss."  
"And how exactly do you know what piss tastes like?"  
"Fuck off, Townley," Trevor set the bottle back down. "Come on, you've gotta have some real booze around here."  
Michael shrugged. "Uh, well, we've got a bit of a wine collection, but I don't know if that's really your-"  
"Yes! Fuck yes. I love wine. Show me the goods." Trevor grinned, and Michael immediately wished he hadn't said anything. The collection was kept in one of the lower cupboards, protected by a small padlock to which only he and Amanda knew how to open. He flicked the combination to the right numbers and pulled off the lock, opening it up. He stood aside as Trevor knelt down and began rummaging through the bottles.  
“Now this is a nice store, Mikey!” Trevor said. “Where d’you find all this shit?”  
“I didn’t find it, Amanda did,” Michael replied. “She never really quit the whole wine enthusiast phase.”  
“Wine enthusiast!” Trevor snorted. “Jesus Christ. That’s what you were getting up to for all those years? How bored were you?”  
“You say that like it’s the only thing I was doing for that whole time. I fuckin’ hated it, T, honest. I couldn’t stand it. Bunch of pricks pretending like they were experts on everything. Shit, just pick a bottle already.”  
“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” Trevor finally pulled a bottle from the very back of the cabinet. “How about this one?” He handed Michael the wine, a red with a label proudly declaring that it was nine years old.  
"Yeah, alright." Michael opened another one of the cupboards and brought out two stemless glasses. Setting them on the counter, he filled them each half full with the wine, which carried a strong scent Michael might have been able to describe had he ever actually paid attention at any of the tastings he'd attended.  
"Cheers, brother." Trevor took his glass and unceremoniously drank it all at once. "Now, that's some real alcohol!"  
"Says the guy who drinks a whole fuckin' case of Pißwasser every day."  
Trevor rolled his eyes. "I don't drink a whole case. Only half, Mikey, only half," He reached for the wine bottle and began pouring himself another drink, while Michael stared at him. "What? Something the matter?"  
"I was just thinking you should take it easy, lightweight." Michael said, coolly taking a sip from his own glass.  
"Who the fuck you callin' a lightweight?" Trevor practically shouted. "You're the lightweight! I can take double anything you could."  
"Wait. Does this mean you're admitting you don't actually think I'm fat?"  
"I-what?" Trevor's face burned nearly as red as the wine itself with anger and embarrassment. "No, fuck you!"  
"Don't you wish."  
Trevor opened his mouth to retort, but stopped himself. He downed the second glass in a matter of seconds, just like the first. "Two glasses and I'm not even feeling it...bet you won't be able to say the same." Trevor leaned against the wall behind him, clearly proud of himself.  
"Just who the hell do you think you're talking to?"  
"I think I'm talking to a fuckin' snake who's mad that I can hold alcohol a hundred times better than him."  
"You're funny when you're drunk, T. You're absolutely hilarious."  
"I'M NOT DRUNK!" Trevor roared. "YOU'RE DRUNK!"  
"Dad? Is everything okay? I heard shouting-" A voice came from the hall. Jimmy was still home. "Oh, hey, Uncle T."  
"Hey, kid," Trevor laughed. "Your dad ever show you this cool wine collection he's got hidden under here?"  
Jimmy's face lit up. "We've got wine?"  
Michael glared at Trevor. "No, Jimmy, we don't have a wine collection. He's just messing with you." Michael said, quickly kicking the wine cupboard shut.  
"Oh," Jimmy replied, obviously disappointed. "Then what are you guys doing?"  
"Trevor and I were just having a few drinks together, alright? Go back upstairs."  
Jimmy looked longingly over at the bottles between Michael and Trevor, but did as he was told. They watched as he disappeared upstairs. "He could've had some, Mikey. It would've been fine." Trevor eventually muttered.  
"No, T," Michael replied. "He's finally starting to clean up his act now, you know that? Got a job at the casino and everything. He doesn't need booze fucking him up. Not like it's fucked me up…"  
"Shit. Sorry I said anything." Trevor mumbled, his gaze going to the floor.  
"Nah, nah," Michael said as he finally finished off his own drink. "You didn't know, man, it's alright."  
"Look at you," Trevor said. He pushed himself off the wall, but only ended up stumbling forward to lean on Michael's shoulder. "Aren't you just a real model family man, huh, Mikey?"  
"I ain't a model anything."  
Trevor burst out laughing. "That's not true...uh, hmm...you're the best at coming up with shit to complain about."  
"Wow, I feel so much better. Thanks, T."  
"You're welcome, sugartits." Trevor said. "It's all the idea juice."  
"Idea juice?" Michael laughed. "You're fuckin' wasted, T. Just admit it."  
"I am not-" Trevor snatched the wine bottle itself off the counter and took another swig. "I am not drunk! You're pretending I'm drunk, so you can pretend you're not!"  
"Remember when I told you to take it easy?" Michael teased, as he pried the bottle away from Trevor yet again. "Come on, over here." He guided Trevor over to the couch, and sat down next to him. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Michael gingerly continuing to drink and Trevor staring up at the ceiling in a daze.  
"You holding up any better now, T?" Michael finally asked.  
"No," Trevor groaned. He slumped over onto Michael, resting his head in his lap. "This whole thing wasn't fair anyway. I just didn't eat much today."  
Michael felt his heart skip a beat. "Come on, man, don't do that…" He protested weakly.  
"Don't do what? Don't do this?" Trevor slurred as he wrapped his shaky hands around Michael's waist.  
"Cut it the fuck out, T, I'm serious." Michael felt his voice crack with nerves as he spoke.  
"Shh, Mikey, it's fine…" Trevor said softly. He was messy, and missed the mark at first, his kiss landing on Michael's cheek rather than his lips. Michael wasn't sure if it was because all the wine and bourbon had finally started to kick at last, but he felt warm. No, not just warm. He was on fire, and he wanted to let himself burn. He kissed Trevor back as hard as he could, and didn't have a care in the world about it.  
When Trevor finally pulled away, he whispered, "Mikey?"  
"Yeah?"  
"I fuckin' love you, man," Trevor whispered. "I mean, I spent nine years wishing I'd had the balls to tell you, y'know? But I do. I really do..."  
Michael felt a rush of emotion surge within him. "I love you too, T." He whispered. He waited anxiously for a reply, but none came. Trevor had finally passed out, arms still firmly wrapped around him. Michael could only smile as he did the same.


End file.
